


NOT YOU ("Various Definitions" AU)

by rubyelf



Series: Various Definitions [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Multi, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4675487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyelf/pseuds/rubyelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's caught in a bad situation and the team resorts to desperate measures to get him out, but the aftermath leaves Clint badly shaken and in need of the kind of repairs only his two most trusted friends can give him.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	NOT YOU ("Various Definitions" AU)

**Author's Note:**

> This is is a one-shot in the "Various Definitions" series. Probably doesn't make a tremendous amount of sense if you haven't read those, but there's still smut.

“He already sent two guys to medical,” the woman said. “I don’t want there to be one second where you two aren’t prepared to shoot him as soon as there’s trouble.”

Clint grinned up at her, ignoring the pain in his bruised jaw and bleeding lip. “Your guys are pussies.”

“You’re the one on your knees in handcuffs,” she said, shrugging, before turning back to the two guards. Clint couldn’t make out their faces clearly in the dim light of the concrete holding cell, but he could see the efficient black shapes of the weapons in their hands. He tested the handcuffs again, but after he’d gotten out of the first pair they’d doubled them up and added some extra chain and a padlock around his arms for good measure. 

“You got plans for when the rest of the team shows up?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” one of the guards said. “That’s when we shoot you in the head.”

The woman nodded. “He causes any trouble, hit him with the shock sticks or shoot him in a non-lethal location. If he gets out of the cuffs, incapacitate him. As soon as you hear any kind of alarm or any sign of a security breach…”

Someone knocked on the door, and when she opened it, a hand reached in and presented her with a tablet, the screen illuminated. Clint tried to make out the distorted faces from his low angle. The woman smiled and tilted it toward him, and he found himself looking up at Captain America in full battle gear, staring awkwardly into the camera. 

“JARVIS, can they hear me?”

“Of course we can hear you,” she snapped.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Good. Then you can listen…”

“No. You can listen. I know your team is on the way here right now. And I know you don’t have any plans to give up the specs and the materials as requested. You guys are pretty obvious, you know. Like the three musketeers or something. You’re not going to let your buddy die here. You’re going to come get him.”

Steve avoided looking at Clint, even though from the angle of the screen he had to be in view. “We’re still working on whether…”

“You’re killing time till Iron Man and Thor come through our fucking ceiling,” she interrupted. “We’re expecting that. And the minute security gets breached, these two guys behind me will fill Robin Hood’s head with hollow-point bullets.”

Clint saw Steve’s eyes flicker to the side. “There’s no need for that. We’re going to figure something out…”

“The specs for the suit. Latest model, full details. And all of the required materials including alloys and electronics. Delivered to the specified location. Every hour that it doesn’t arrive, your friend here takes some more damage.”

“You don’t…”

“We’re kind of tired of beating him up, so we’re going to figure out some new ways to hurt him. I’d hurry up if I were you.”

She turned off the tablet and looked toward the guards. 

“Do not let those weapons get pointed anywhere other than at his head. If it sounds like anything’s happening that we don’t have total control over, fire multiple kill shots.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The door banged shut against its metal frame as she departed. Clint tried to take stock of his surroundings; he wasn’t sure if this was an abandoned military base or just a high-security industrial complex, but they’d been smart enough to keep moving him around in it so he couldn’t get a decent sense of where he was or what resources might be nearby. The guards shifted their feet, but he kept his eyes facing forward and slowly began to shift his weight to the left, preparing for a roll and kick. 

The butt of a gun hit him in the back of the head hard enough to send him face-down against the concrete floor with white spots in front of his vision. 

“We’re not fucking around.”

“I get it,” he muttered. 

“Back on your knees. And stay there.”

 

 

Considering how quickly they’d picked up even his subtle attempts to maneuver into a better position, and considering that he had no idea what the team was doing, he decided to keep still and wait. They’d made sure Steve and the rest of the team had seen his battered face. If he’d been able to talk he’d have told them it wasn’t as bad as it looked, that they had plenty of time, but they wouldn’t have listened anyway. 

The guards’ radios crackled, and one of them picked his up and pressed the button. 

“Yeah.”

“West gate just intercepted someone trying to get around the motion sensors.”

Fingers moved to triggers. 

“Situation?”

“Under control. Female subject is incapacitated. Eddings wants you to bring your guy down to Area 4 immediately. Make sure he knows if he tries anything on the way, female subject will be in a lot more pain than she already is.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Clint’s face registered no emotion, but he was fighting to keep his stomach from knotting. Natasha wouldn’t have gotten caught. Natasha wasn’t incapacitated. Natasha knew how to handle people like this. 

“Up,” one of the guards said, prodding him. “You heard the lady.”

Clint let them direct him down dark, echoing hallways, around more corners than was probably necessary while he tried to memorize each turn and backtrack. A door with a metal grid over the small glass panel opened, and Clint was shoved forward, into what looked to have been a tightly secured office once, with heavily reinforced windows and empty bookshelves along the walls. There was a metal desk against the far wall, and three guards were standing over it, but the slender body handcuffed and face down on the desk wasn’t moving. Something clicked in Clint’s head, turning on the mental camera that recorded every detail. The lines of the body, the curve of the fingers of one pale hand, the length of the fingernails. The red hair under the bare bulb overhead. The trickle of blood making its way down and along the edge of one of the desk drawers. The dark pool forming under the other side of the desk. The expressionless guards. The empty black holes at the end of their weapons only inches away from her head. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” the guard behind Clint said. 

“Tasha,” he heard himself say. 

She moved, and his heart slammed into his ribs. 

“Be quiet, Hawk.”

Something tried to click into place in his brain, something about the words that had just come out of her mouth and how there was something wrong with them, but he’d been hit in the head enough times that the thought wouldn’t assemble itself, and all he could process was Natasha, in front of him and bleeding.

“You’re not supposed to get caught,” he managed.

“I know that.”

She coughed, and Clint could hear the blood in her throat, and the urge to lunge toward her warred with the knowledge that they wanted him to do exactly that. 

“You move, we finish her off. Now, we’re going to get you a secure line and you’re going to get your captain on it and you’re going to negotiate the transfer...”

Clint had kept his eyes on the guards, trying to distract them from Natasha’s hands moving slowly behind her back, and when her arm snapped out and caught one guard in the stomach, he made the mistake of slumping forward. His head against the desk made a wet thud, and then his gun was in that pale, bloody hand, swinging toward the next guard.

Clint jerked forward the moment he saw her move, but one guard yanked him back and the other slammed his head against the wall, sending him to the floor. He fought unconsciousness, fought the handcuffs behind his back, and a heartbeat later the air in the room exploded with the sound of a bullet, and then another one. Natasha’s shot caught the second of her three guards in the chest. The third guard’s shot hit her cleanly in the temple. 

Nothing had ever seemed to happen as slowly as the blossoming of the exit wound on the other side of her head as the bullet tore through it, and he had no idea what words might have come out of his mouth, but it made no difference anymore. He lunged at his two guards, but another hard crack to the head sent his vision spinning into blackness, and his body refused to obey him. The floor was cold under his wet face as they stood over him, and their voices sounded tinny in the aftermath of the gunshots. He tried to maintain awareness, at least of who was in the room and where they were. The last guard left of the three who had been with Natasha was checking the bodies, and then Clint heard his footsteps approach. 

“Aiden’s alive but that’s a bad head injury. Haran and prisoner are dead. Get…”

Slight hints of movement from near the desk. Clint wondered if the injured guard was fighting as hard as he was to drag his brain back to functioning. 

The room exploded again and Clint waited for the pain of a bullet, but none of them hit him, and none of them hit concrete, either. Three shots, and no echo of high-velocity metal off the walls. He heard three thuds as the two bodies behind him and one in front of him joined him on the floor. Someone was kneeling beside him, telling him something, but he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears from the shots at close range, and his eyes wouldn’t focus, and finally his attempt to hold onto consciousness failed. 

 

 

 

“… how many concussions one person can have at one time,” Bruce was saying, and Clint recognized the hum of the Quinjet beneath him. He tried to put words together, but there was something over his face. Oxygen mask. It had to come off. He groped for it, but a pair of hands grabbed his wrists, and he realized he knew those hands. They were the same hands he’s studied for that endless moment in that grim office with blood pooling on the floor, the same graceful fingers with nails trimmed short and perfect, digging into his skin. 

“Clint. Don’t move.”

He forced his eyes open, and Natasha looked back at him, her face alive and animated, no small, sharp entrance wound on one side of her head, no gaping exit wound on the other, no blood. 

“You were…”

“Shh. It wasn’t me, Clint. I’m sorry. We had to get those guards off you long enough to keep them from shooting you when we came in…”

“Wasn’t…”

He turned his head, and sitting across from him on the floor of the Quinjet, grinning wearily, was Loki. The mesh helmet covering the black hair was slightly dented from the bullet impact, and the demigod rubbed his head ruefully. 

“I thought you said it wouldn’t hurt.”

“I said it wouldn’t kill you,” Tony corrected him. 

Natasha glared at them and squeezed Clint’s hand. “It wasn’t me. They had to think it was. I wanted to tell you… Loki, you couldn’t have warned him?”

“I tried. I didn’t exactly have the opportunity, since they did shoot me three or four times before they brought him in,” Loki retorted. “I was a bit busy healing from that, if you don’t mind.”  
“If they’d had any hint that something was going on, they’d have shot Clint instead of Loki,” Bruce said. 

Clint swatted the oxygen mask off his face, his head still spinning and his thoughts still scattered like the contents of a box dumped out on the floor. 

“I watched you die.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her grip on his hand tightening. “We had to get you out of there. The only way we could think of to get your guards off you was an ambush, and the only way we were going to ambush them in their own space was…”

“With someone that was already dead,” Clint murmured, rubbing his face and wincing at the bruises. “You were dead.”

“I’m fine, Clint. You need to rest. I’m fine. I promise. That was Loki and it didn’t hurt him…”

“It wasn’t exactly pleasant!”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “Everyone is fine. We got you out.”

“I watched you die,” he repeated, and he could hear the rising panic in his voice even though the fear seemed distant and confused. 

“Shit,” she muttered. “Do we have an ETA on Thor?”

“He and Tony are keeping the place on lockdown till S.H.I.E.L.D. agents get there…”

“Damn. Bruce, can you give him something?”

Clint tried to protest, but from the alarm in Natasha’s eyes he realized he must not be doing a very good job of convincing her he was okay, and then something poked him in the arm, and he felt her hand stroking his hair as he slipped down into silence again.

 

 

 

He woke from a nightmare where he reached up to hold the hand that was running across his forehead, only to find the skin cold and the fingers stiff and sticky with blood. He recoiled in horror, but someone had him by the shoulders and was saying something, and the voice was loud and booming enough that it had to be Thor. 

He forced his eyes open. Thor’s scowl turned into a grin. 

“Little Hawk. All is well.”

“Tasha’s dead,” he murmured, looking around and registering some surprise at finding himself in his own bed. “She’s dead. I saw her die.”

“I tried to tell you, Clint…”

And then she was sitting on the bed beside him, dressed in pajama pants and a loose t-shirt, her hair still damp and her skin warm and soap-scented from a shower. 

“She is alive and well. She was not harmed,” Thor said. 

Natasha glanced at him. “I told the other guys this was a bad idea. Loki’s illusions are too good.”

“It had to be, or we would not have been able to extract our friend…”

Clint shrugged off their hands and sat up, wincing as his abused muscles sent shocks of hurt to his brain. “That was an illusion. What I saw…”

“They did actually shoot him a few times while they were apprehending him,” Natasha said. “He didn’t appreciate that at all, but we weren’t expecting them to be that aggressive. He at least had on enough armor to keep from taking significant damage, but he was definitely hurt. That part wasn’t an illusion. “

“They shot you in the head…” he said, and his voice failed as the sight of the blossoming exit wound slammed across his memory. 

“They’re ex-military. They’re not going to waste time shooting a bunch of holes in someone and letting them bleed out. The plan was that when Loki went for the attack, they’d do what they’re trained to do and take the kill shot. Tony made him a nice bulletproof helmet… even demigods can’t walk away from a close-range head shot.”

Clint shuddered, and Thor reached for a blanket, but Clint shoved it aside. 

“He couldn’t have let me know, somehow? I had to think I was watching you die?”

“He was going to tip you off but we weren’t expecting that he’d already be that seriously injured by the time he got in there…”

The image burned against his brain again and he must have made a sound, because suddenly he found himself wrapped up in Thor’s massive arms. He struggled for a moment, but Thor’s arms around him and the futility of fighting them and the relief of surrendering to them had been trained into him as thoroughly as the feel of an arrow between his fingers, and he let himself slump against the strong body that held him. 

“No fight today, little Hawk?” Thor asked, smiling against his hair. 

“Too tired.”

Natasha’s hands were on his back, stroking over the bruises. “How bad does this hurt?”

“It doesn’t. I stopped feeling anything when…”

“Shh. Don’t. Just…”

Her lips pressed against his shoulder, and Thor lowered his head to lick along his neck on the other side. His hands came up, but Thor caught them and pinned them against his broad chest. Natasha’s hands slid down, fingers tracing along his hip bones. 

“I’ll prove how alive I am, if you’re up for it,” she whispered. 

Clint’s answer was silenced by Thor’s mouth over his, and by the time his brain caught up with the heat of the kiss, he realized that Natasha had, with her usual remarkable agility, managed to get out of just about all of her clothes and was pressed against his back, lips against his neck. 

He felt himself struggling without even knowing why, felt his muscles tighten under the two pairs of hands, felt the urge to resist or escape building. Thor pulled back slightly. 

“Little Hawk.”

“I can’t breathe,” he murmured. 

He felt the glance they exchanged over his shoulder. 

“You’re breathing,” she said, running a hand across his bruised cheek. “You’re fine.”

He shook his head; he wasn’t fine. He heard Thor’s low rumble of concern and felt him reach for something. 

“I do not place this on him unless I know he is clear-headed enough to…”

“He gave you permission to use it to bring him down when he’s like this,” she said. “You know he trusts you. He’s here enough to say ‘stop’ if he needs to.”

Thor’s large fingers were gentle against his throat as they arranged the leather collar, the familiar smooth surface and the small clinking of the cool metal buckle as it slid into place. He focused on the feeling of it, on the texture, the weight, the smell. 

“Good,” Thor murmured. “Tell me where you are.”

“In my room. At the tower.”

“Tell me who is here with you.”

“You. Natasha.”

“And do you trust me when I tell you that Natasha is well and unharmed and that what you saw was not real?”

Clint tried to tell him that of course he knew that, but his ability to lie vanished with the collar and Thor’s low voice, and no words left his mouth.

“We shouldn’t have had to break him to get him out of there…” Natasha hissed. 

“We did the best we knew,” Thor said. “We brought our Hawk back alive. And he is not broken. He only needs some care. You know he is stronger than that.”

Clint felt her nod, and her lips pressed against his cheek. 

“Are you with us, Clint? I’m here. I’m fine. I promise. You know I never promise you anything if I don’t mean it. You’re the only person I don’t lie to.”

“What if it’s still not really you?” he asked. “What if that was real and this is a trick?”

“July. In Iran, in a marketplace. Sun so hot you said it was burning the hair off your head. Me bitching because at least you didn’t have to be in a hijab. Do you remember how many extra pockets that outfit had to have added to keep my weapons where I could still reach them?”

“Seven.”

“Eight. You didn’t know about one of them. It was the one that had the transmitter in it. The transmitter to call my Russian team and have them extract me if it turned out that you and S.H.I.E.L.D. were full of shit and were setting me up.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. “How many missions did you carry that?”

“That was the last one,” she said. “You remember what happened there.”

“Yeah. Got into the target’s house. Lots of bodyguards. Things went bad, fast.”

“And we had to shoot our way out. Shoulder to shoulder.”

“You took a bullet,” Clint said. “I…”

“We kept fighting. And we got out. And I was bleeding out and you could have left me, but you didn’t. You dragged me out of there and you stayed with me till backup got there. Do you remember what you kept telling me while we were waiting?”

“That I wasn’t letting you go, not like that.”

“What else?” she insisted. 

“That I loved you.”

She kissed him on the forehead. “You think anyone knows about that except you and me, Clint?”

He exhaled and slumped in Thor’s grasp. “No. Only you.”

“The person in that room with you looked like me. But that person didn’t know the things I know about you. It wasn’t me. Stop thinking about that person as me. That was Loki. Looking like me. But Loki’s mind and Loki’s thoughts and Loki’s body, just looking like mine. I wasn’t there. I was never in danger. That wasn’t me. It wasn’t real.”

Clint nodded. Thor grinned. 

“Can you breathe now?”

“Yeah. I can.”

“What do you want?”

“Fuck. You. Both of you. Please. I need…”

That was all Thor needed to hear to roll Clint back against the bed and press him down, kissing him hard while Natasha’s lap cradled his head and her hands brushed over his hair. Clint’s hands came up, reaching, and Natasha caught them by the wrists and held them against the sheets beside her knees as he thrust up against Thor’s weight against him and bit hard into the muscle of Thor’s shoulder. Thor chuckled. 

“I like to see the fight return to you.”

Clint bit harder, hard enough to draw blood on human skin, but Thor barely seemed to notice, and then Natasha was pushing Thor back so she could lean over and kiss Clint while Thor leaned over and reached for something beside the bed. Clint didn’t have to ask what it was and he didn’t care. Natasha looked up and smiled. 

“You ready?”

“Fuck.”

“You’re so eloquent, Clint. You should be a poet.”

Clint’s brain had just started to work on an answer to that when he felt Thor’s fingers pressing against him, slick and cool, and then pressing inside abruptly, a sudden stretch that made his back arch and his fists clench. Natasha laughed and stroked his hair. 

“Not expecting that?”

“I…”

“Shh. No talking.”

“Fuck you.”

She still had his wrists, and she lowered her head to kiss each tightened hand open, lips and tongue wrapping his fingers in heat to distract him from the burn of Thor’s brisk work. There were times when Thor took his time and tormented Clint mercilessly while he stretched and prepared him, but those were times when he wanted to draw things out, drag Clint down slowly into submission. This wasn’t the time for that. Clint winced as Thor’s cock pressed into him, insistent and demanding. 

“Take it easy!”

“Like you ever want anyone to take it easy on you,” Natasha murmured, biting his fingers. 

He didn’t have an answer to that either, because he had lost awareness of anything but Thor filling him, the burning pain tangled with the sudden blast of white heat when the pressure found just the right places. Natasha’s lips were on his forehead, his cheeks, her hands still gripping his wrists, and he heard sounds escaping him but didn’t care and couldn’t have stopped them if he tried. 

“Are you all right, little Hawk?”

Clint forced himself to nod, and he heard Thor laugh as he shifted his weight, grasped Clint’s thighs in his big hands, and drew back before thrusting in again. It knocked a desperate moan out of Clint and a corresponding small hiss of something that was either sympathy or desire from Natasha. Her right hand released his wrist and he could feel it sliding downward. His free hand flew up to grab Thor’s hair and pull, hard, which Thor always seemed to find amusing, and as Thor continued to fuck him relentlessly, Natasha’s fingers had reached into the waistband of her loose pajama pants. 

“You know what I’m doing, don’t you?”

Clint managed something that might have been an answer to the affirmative. 

“You want me to make myself come?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

“I will when you do.”

Then he was trapped between Thor’s steady thrusts and Natasha’s breath shifting into soft gasps behind him, and one hand had a brutal grip on Thor’s hair and the other was clenched around Natasha’s. He would never have let anyone else hear him beg but between the two of them he didn’t care and the desperation in his voice spurred Thor to thrust harder, and each cry that it jolted out of Clint sent a shudder through Natasha’s body pressed against him. 

“Thor.”

Natasha’s word was an order, and Thor obligingly reached down and wrapped his hands around Clint’s cock and stroked firmly until Clint shouted as he came, and above him Natasha’s lips pressed against his face, her breath hot and rapid as she followed him. 

The bed was soft and big enough for all three collapsed bodies, and after a moment Natasha rolled to slide down beside Clint and wrap a leg over him. 

“You convinced I’m alive now?”

He opened one eye. “Think so.”

Thor grinned and reached over to stroke his fingers up Natasha’s thigh. “I believe he is convinced.”

“You two shouldn’t be allowed to do that to me.”

“Okay. We won’t.”

“I didn’t say that…”

She bit his arm. “Then be quiet.”

So he was, and the peace in the room settled over him, and the visions of earlier in the day faded slowly behind a curtain of Natasha’s soft breath against his skin and Thor’s broad hand rubbing through his hair. 

 

 

.  
.  
.


End file.
